Fall - 1893

This owl has flown rouge in through my flat window and continues to do so nightly. Please reclaim your beast or do something to dissuade him from such misadventures.

Sincerely,
V.I.

---

open (someone answer this so I can spin up a plot thread)

---

  

---

i desire very little but the things i do consume me

Dear V.I.,

I apologize for the inconvenience that Lady Nimue has caused you. I swear she is quite harmless, although in her old age I suspect she has lost some sense of direction. But don't we all?

Think of it. We grow old, our minds cluttered. We feel the wind upon our feathers and see a sliver of silver water in the moonlight. The caw of another owl. The burnished stars peeking from their blanket. Such wonder and curiosity to soak in.

Would you not too get lost?

Most Sincerely,
S.D.

P.S. If you feed her Bertie Bott Beans she may behave better. She particularly likes the earwax flavor.

  

---

Perfect Lottie vibes courtsey of MJ <3

At first, Vince's reaction to the return letter was irritation. Unbridled and entirely aloof. It came in and was crumpled, tossed aside, forgotten and the creature shooed quite ferociously out the window again with a huff. What pretentious dribble... honestly. But, as lonely days and nights turned colder, the letter - with it's easy lilt tickling some more romantic, academic side of Vince - prompted him to think on it more and more often. A week passed and eventually he resigned to satiate his curiosity. Purely for boredom sake. It wasn't like the dumb owl had stopped coming by as it was anyway.

---

S.D.

Nimue. Strange name for a creature of feathers with no inclination as to water or lakes. Do you fancy that medieval poppycock? I'd say the old bat Merlin might fit better, but I digress.

Your romanticism as to an owl's assumed perception while flying strikes a fanciful chord. Beautiful in its description, but likely far from the truth. Would not instead a senile bird be rather paranoid, feeling the closing in of darkness around, not quite able to see or hear or sense the way they once might? Every scrape of mouse nails on the ground a temptation to hunger, the caw of another creature threatening to its territory or status?

Take it from someone who has recently shared a delusional headspace; senility is not preferable in itself to death, swift and true.

V.I.

---

Shalott Dempsey

---

  

---

i desire very little but the things i do consume me

V.I.,

Nimue the owl may not be a creature of lakes and water, but she is a creature of mystery and enchantments, thus I find the name quite fitting. Besides Merlin is not the only one of power, Nimue herself was a powerful witch in her own right.

You sound much like my sister, your words at least are beautiful in the anxiety they create. I can easily imagine Nimue feeling this way with your new perspective. My heart goes out to Nimue, the pain she must feel on her flights. Until your letter I had rather expected that losing one's mind was like drifting into fanciful dreams, your cares and fears flowing away from you like a river from a spring.

S.D.

P.S. Ought I to be concerned with your headspace still?

  

---

Perfect Lottie vibes courtsey of MJ <3

Any follow-up of response came as unexpectedly as the owl's continued arrival. At first Vince didn't even realize there was a response in the creature's grasp. Having had a particularly horrid day of boredom and argument, his temper flared just enough to shove the beast rudely out of the (mistakenly) open window. It took everything in him not to shoot sparks at those dry, feathered wings, and not for the first time he wondered if he ought to just resign himself to it.

Eventually he managed to notice and retrieve the parchment. A quick scan of the contents caused anger to simmer, instead intrigue crowding forward. S.D. Who was this person that wrote so... childishly? whimsically? uninhibitedly? It must be someone with extreme empathy for even the most banal of living things. (To think, too, why they would bother to ask after his own mental state? The Slytherin huffed, unimpressed.)

Deciding however he (still) had nothing better to do these long, boring days than to indulge in a response, Vince settled himself with a quill. He cast a quick handwriting disguise spell, for good measure. (He might be half out of his mind, but even in this state Vince could still recognize it was best not to let his personal afflictions float out there in the ether with any traceability.) If his mind stuck a little bit, as if on loop, on the words "beautiful in the anxiety they create" - that was nobody's business but his own.

---

S.D.

Your creature is at once insufferable and persistent. I can only imagine this a fair representation of it's namesake, but think me not gender biased. I believe Merlin too an absolute quack.

As for my words... I'm sure they are mere reflections of the chaos that simmers at the periphery of my reality these days. Do not search for beauty in them. In the end, you will only find disappointment. Losing one's mind is nothing at all like the whimsical faerietale you imagine. It is cruel and painful, too tangible as it slowly chips away at every ounce of one's self worth. The worst part? You can't do anything about it. He takes and takes, growing stronger until you feel you can't possibly stand it anymore and then--

---

You end up writing letters about it to unsuspecting, normal people.

Vince paused. His leg was bouncing up and down in an uncharacteristic show of anxiety. Was it worth pouring out his troubles in this way to someone who could neither do anything about it, nor likely cared enough to be bothered even if they could? No. Absolutely not. But was it cathartic to send a missive so laden with mental baggage that it almost felt like a disposal of his own issues onto some unwilling victim? Yes. Enough that he deigned to continue and ultimately send the final letter. (A little reinforcement of that handwritting charm helped too.)

---

-- and then, everything else ceases to exist.

If you are concerned about mental head-spaces, I should forewarn you to dispose of this acquaintance.

Yours most fruitfully,
V.I.

---

Shalott Dempsey

---

  

---

i desire very little but the things i do consume me

V.I.

I shall forgive you for endeavoring to give me the impression you favored Merlin. Really how very tiresome it is to hear of his prowess, I might prefer to hear of those he overshadowed. Their stories may not be as grand, but I feel they move with a deeper emotion that is lacking when it comes to what we know of Merlin.

How could I not see the beauty in such words, however tinted in chaos they might be? They depict something unusual. Not all that is unusual is ugly or mundane. Even a thorn has a beauty to it. It curves in a fashion as if it were a woman, hiding danger in its most mundane being. And yet, when one is pricked by it there is a ruby red spill of blood, a color that can hardly be captured by paints as it might be in the very depth of words.

While my own words may be whimsical in their depiction of such matters, there are days when I feel as if they are leading me away from reality. Soft clouds, whistling breezes, a world that calls to me, stretching out its hand and begging me to take it, to embrace the oblivion beyond. But these are fancies my siblings dare not listen to me voice.

Yet your own words, your own depiction set me trembling. There is no He pulling me forward, no She guiding me to the sweet suchre of what is just beyond that misty boundary. How shackling to feel as if one's worth is slipping away, as if that thorn pricked not one's being but rather one's soul. I should hate to feel that. I would rather slip into the clouds and meadows with joyful abandon than to sink into the abyss of obsession. There is a beauty in thinking nothing, don't you think?

You mistake my question. I merely asked if I ought to be. Not that I was.

Kindly,
S.D.

The following 1 user Likes Shalott Dempsey's post:1 user Likes Shalott Dempsey's post
   Vincent Iago

---

Perfect Lottie vibes courtsey of MJ <3

Fall - 1893

Another letter. How fascinating. To think that they might start to become a single bright star in an otherwise boring, monotonous existence spent holed up in a single apartment - however luxurious - made Vince fidget, nervously. He didn't want to become reliant on this tiny spark of intrigue, but neither did he want to share it with anyone, even Cassian.

---

S.D.,

I ask for no such generosity as forgiveness.

It's all tied to the misconception that power comes from blood purity, actually. Ridiculous, given that Merlin himself was never proven to be pure of any kind of blood. It is however, as you say, an emotionless tale. Overplayed, and greatly oversaturated with importance.

I find your keen take on darkness flattering and elegant. I suppose as a result you've proven your point, weaving the right words in the right order to conjure images of both beauty and threat. It's not a talent many can boast and for that, I applaud you.

(Too, I must agree that like thorns - women are dangerous creatures. More so than the stupidity of men often allows.)

As for your words... I sense a companionable loss of self in them, if I'm not so mistaken. It takes one broken soul to uncover the truth behind another, in the end. However, my question to you, S.D., is this:

Do your wanderings lead you away from yourself or from a life you've been prescribed to accept?

The beauty in nothing you seem determined to reconcile means very little to one afflicted by the 'abyss of obsession.' But that's always been my tragic flaw.

Color me curious,
V.I.

---

Shalott Dempsey

---

  

---

i desire very little but the things i do consume me

V.I.

Words are merely a tapestry woven together to depict the inside of one's mind to another's. I am grateful that mine were adequate enough to give you a glimpse of what my inner eye so clearly sees.

(It should be noted that I do not think women alone to be dangerous, but rather I believe the capacity of humanity to allow for the danger, be it man or woman.)

There is a distinct kinship in the loss of self, but I do not view my soul as broken. It is merely as if part has taken flight, whisking into the breezes of the meadow, following into the mists where it can not be followed. Those wanderings, as you have inquired, have led away from myself. Life flows on around me, yet my mind seeks and longs, it begs to be set free.

Your tragic flaw has always allowed you be see the darkness despite the light? Or to tend toward obsession?

Kindly,
S.D.

The following 1 user Likes Shalott Dempsey's post:1 user Likes Shalott Dempsey's post
   Vincent Iago

---

Perfect Lottie vibes courtsey of MJ <3

Fall - 1893

An eloquent response, once again proving this author's mastery of words. (A compliment not so easily given by one as put-upon himself as Vincent Iago.) The fascinating inquiry of a mind filled with memories of different colors briefly flashed across Vince's mind as he read the response over again. Now here was certainly a head he'd have liked to poke around in if ever given the chance.

---

S.D.,

I have to admit, I do find your take on life entirely fascinating. What is it that could possibly set your mind free? Have you given it much thought?

Is it something you dread, or cannot accomplish alone for whatever reason? Is it rather shaded in a darkness you refuse to reconcile within yourself? I find it hard to believe anyone can be quite so freely optimistic all the time. You'll forgive me for my jaded view, but my line of work has only proven time and again that even the cheeriest, most carefree of us harbors secrets that would make a mother's skin crawl.

As for my own flaws, I'm sure you will guess in time.

Yours now, most intrigued,
V.I.

---

Shalott Dempsey

---

  

---

i desire very little but the things i do consume me

V.I.

I have considered your words, dwelled on them, lived in them, and I find that none of your suggestions come close to what might set it free. It often feels as if the currents of the world wish to wrap their strength about me and drag me to a place I've yet to see. Golden threads that twine through the universe, that gild objects in beauty until I feel bound by my very soul to try and depict them through the futility of my own words. It is as if my own humanity holds me back and yet I am pulled further away, floating beyond what is real and yet never reaching my destination.

It seems such a small thing, but I must protest at the description that this is optimism. It is not. It is a curiosity, a longing, a feeling just beyond my being. I am no Ophelia, lost in a grief and driven from her body by a shattered soul.

S.D.

The following 1 user Likes Shalott Dempsey's post:1 user Likes Shalott Dempsey's post
   Vincent Iago

---

Perfect Lottie vibes courtsey of MJ <3

S.D.,

I beg your pardon, then.

If not optimism, curiosity is a suitable substitute. I should tell you now, I am utterly fascinated to see what it is that you experience for myself. It is a shame that we will never be destined to meet. I remain locked in an ebony tower until my own, similar afflictions, have been resolved.

This golden thread-- does it lead anywhere in particular? Have you noticed a pattern in the objects it pulls you towards? Perhaps it is a subconscious snag on one of the many threads of fate. Have you a seer's gift or anyone in your family? Perhaps it merely failed to manifest as it should.

I would be remiss in any communication however not to comment upon your Ophelia. I think you quite like our misunderstood heroine, and only in the loveliest of ways. By no fault of your own, there has been a loss of innocence. This thread you claim, might too lead to floral pools.

But too, if you are Ophelia then I shall be your mad Hamlet. We two can be requisite partners in navigation of this often cruel world.

your Prince of Denmark,
V.I.

---

Shalott Dempsey

---

  

---

i desire very little but the things i do consume me

Prince,

What must it feel like to see inside the mind beyond one's own, I wonder. As you wonder this yourself, it begs the question if you have indeed seen inside the mind of another. What was it like? Did it drag you inward until you lost yourself or did you walk it like the corridors of one's mind when they read a novel? Or did it instead wash over you as the waves on the water soaked sands of a beach?

I have never had anyone take interest in the golden threads of my mind. There has never seemed a pattern, they seem led by whimsy, blowing along the breeze like the seeds of a flower. My mind longs to write of that which it gilds in gold, tugging me with, dare I say it, an obsession. As if I were fated, twisted into the shaping of words, the melding of imagination and reality.

There are those who would argue it is not a loss of innocence, but instead an excess of imagination or perhaps even an excess of innocence. It is not a fracturing of my soul, but a gentle tug leading me along. And yet fancy bids me to try to consider if perhaps you are right.

I should dearly love to float upon this path with one by my side, and so I shall not object too vigorously,

Your Ophelia

The following 1 user Likes Shalott Dempsey's post:1 user Likes Shalott Dempsey's post
   Vincent Iago

---

Perfect Lottie vibes courtsey of MJ <3

Ophelia,

I have seen inside many minds, in various different ways.

The first, most conventional and least alarming-- much like your corridor stroll analogy-- is through legilimency. I am myself quite skilled and have on occasion been able to use this ability to tug memories from their organized little nooks and crannies. If the subject is willing and complacent, it can actually be quite easy to remove said memories and take a sight-see around.

The second, much like the first, is through use of a pensive to review such memories. Often more structured than a particularly tumultuous mind, the pensive provides great insight into what one feels and experiences in those moments showcased that can sometimes be harder to glean directly from the source.

And the third I hesitate to detail at all. It was a curse, I can say at least that much. A curse that has tied my soul to anothers' of parallel likeness and circumstance. There are lapses, on occasion, where I can see into his mind and he into mine. It is chaos beyond that which I care to revisit in the few waking hours I share not. But know, if nothing else, this last method is at once horrid and devastatingly meaningful. More than any other such form of mind invasion. There is nothing that can be hidden on either side of the exchange.

As such, with these multi-faceted experiences under my wing, I take great interest in your threads. It is a curiosity to me that relieves the boredom of this place and-- though I would be loathe to admit having said as much-- I do thank you for your indulgence. If your mind begs you to write what your threads bind, know that you will always have an eager ear that is only an owl's flight away.

Hamlet.

---

Shalott Dempsey

---

  

---

i desire very little but the things i do consume me

Hamlet,

My soul longs to reach out to you, to bring you comfort. I would grow wings to fly to your ebony tower if I could bring you such solace. As it is, I shall image that my letters can do this. Perhaps they might be a balm to you.

To suffer such a fate, to be thrust into the chaos of a mind one was not born to, is a prison of an existence. All too easily can I image the void in which you have been thrust. An airless and dark location, the air full of must. What is a life lacking in the scent of petrichor? To not savor the tickle of grass under foot, or the playful breeze in the shy? What of the feel of the a gentle morning mist seeping at the edges of one's existence, gently awakening one to the beginning of a new day.

But this letter has rambled beyond its purpose, and I do hope you shall forgive me for such indulgences. Do not mistake them for a lack of interest, I find your description of each method to be truly captivating. Perhaps I ought to be scared of such descriptions and yet all I find is that my own curiosity only wishes to hear more of this. To consider the nooks and crannies that might be coaxed out of one. To view that of a pensive, a ghost of a memory surrounding me. Or perhaps I have misunderstood the sensations you have put forth upon paper...

I have found this out from your letter: before the latter method, you prided yourself on your orderly mind. As I doubt I could ever make such a claim I shall hold fast to your hand and lead you through the mires, to help you see the beauty in the chaos. Hold tight and perhaps you shall even find golden threads of your own to follow.

Your Ophelia

The following 1 user Likes Shalott Dempsey's post:1 user Likes Shalott Dempsey's post
   Vincent Iago

---

Perfect Lottie vibes courtsey of MJ <3

Ophelia,

Please, don’t pity me. It is the least useful of all sentiments and I desire no such obligation in kind.

You understand well my predicament however. That in and of itself can serve as your solace. Nobody else can claim such a feat, not even that one person who has attempted to stand beside me throughout. I can appreciate and offer you at least my acknowledgement of this.

As for the pensive, I encourage you to experience it yourself someday. It is much as you have imagined and not so wholly uncommon as one might think. If you find a willing obliviator, he may be so inclined to assist. (Only I recommend you don’t waltz into the Ministry. It’s a poor lot of obliviators they employ; not worth the risk to your lovely threads.)

I shall keep a lookout for threads of my own, though I doubt they will be as golden and curious as yours. Instead, I imagine balled shadows, unraveling in a thin line to lead me off the side of a ship—

Hopefully you are safer from your mind than I from mine.

your Hamlet.

---

Shalott Dempsey

---

  

---

i desire very little but the things i do consume me

Hamlet,

Do not mistake empathy for pity and discard it as such. Empathy is so often neglected in favor of the misconception of pity. Empathy comes with it a compassion, a kindness, a link from the soul that pity barely even brushes.

Even darkness can turn to light when the sun glints off it. Your shadowed spools of threads may twist with gold, may travel along side mine and find a way to swim through the seas you leap into. I do not believe, dear prince, that you would find such an end, no matter what your mind has whispered to you. Instead turn to the light that shines, hold fast to the hand that reaches out to you, feel the wind whisper its secrets and the clouds wrap you up in their mists. That is where you shall find me, hand and soul outreached, ready to help you braid your spool of shadow to one of glinting light.

Your Ophelia

  

---

Perfect Lottie vibes courtsey of MJ <3